The Kissies
by SwimGirl16
Summary: There's a dazzling new band in Liverpool desperate for the Beatles' wisdom and approval, The Kissies. They're a crew of hunky, attractive British cuties with a sparkling, master weapon: a beautiful, American girl leading them to musical awesomeness. Sammy's gorgeous, humble, ambitious, and enchanting. The Fab Four can't seem resist her and she's loving every second of it!
1. The Perfect Puzzle

**Well…this is my Beatles fanfiction! I love the Beatles; they're my favorite band of all time! They make me go nuts! I don't own anything except for my OCs, heart, mind, and soul! Thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me! I love you all, Peace and Love!**

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**The Perfect Puzzle**

I stared out at the standing audience before me; a sea of velvet dresses, overpriced jewelry, and smoky suits of loud applauses and whistles. I grinned easily and proudly as I curtsied. My tight, sparkly white dress dazzled underneath the spotlight, along with my heavily curled, high ponytail that glimmered against my own heavenly light and famous glow. My dark blue eyes twinkled along with my pearly white teeth that were framed with rosy red lips. I sighed gratefully, unbelieving that these glistening nights of theatrical performances, prestigious fans, and starlit lights had become my reality.

It was my fifth month of playing Reno Sweeny in the shinning revival of Broadway's lovely Anything Goes. We were on our European tour, traveling through hundreds of cities in France, Western Germany, England, Austria, Switzerland, Spain, Poland, etc…stopping in a lucky handful to bless the citizens with an outstanding performance. We had just finished our show on the polished stage of the Empire Theater in Liverpool, England. The seats were filled with strong minded elders with curly, silver hair and young lovers who held hands between the soft seats. They cheered for us, as we bowed above their local stage, smiling wide with delight. I adored being in England, it reminded me of my many backpacking trips, where I swayed with my swell friends in fume-filled jazz clubs. I smiled at sweet memories of playing covers and silly love songs in rainy college towns and unknown pubs with dusty secondhand instruments.

When the curtain fell for the final time I rushed to my dressing room. I kept freezing before well-dressed gentlemen with snowy, small portions of hair that handed me enormous arrangements of wildly colored flowers and smooth boxes with neon ribbon. "Oh Sammy, you were magnificent!" they all chirped in their pretty British accents. "You're the greatest Reno Sweeny their ever was!" they would cry out with wide faces, "You're worth a million pounds!" I would thank them, shaking their wrinkled hands and signing their clean playbills. I gently giggled with delightfulness as they began short stories of their family's obsession with the musical. I told them they were far too kind and continued to my room that greeted me with a huge golden star that read out 'Reno' in thick, bolded letters. I slipped into a silky lavender robe and sat on a violet, cushioned seat. The large mirror in front of me was framed with twitching light bulbs; I gasped at the rare beauty of my reflection. I was a princess of long, thick eyelashes, sun-kissed skin, and light, icy pink makeup. I wasn't admiring myself in a narcissistic way, fortunately, but in a style of awestruck. I was living a dream that I didn't even know existed. I had only been a high school senior months ago, itching to graduate, who foolishly starred in a poor school musical with bad lighting and a cheap, hazardous set. Now I was a fresh Broadway star, sailing through the world to perform on glorious stages and wear expensive rows of pristine pearls. But, despite how happy I was, I still craved for something else, something that I'd wanted all my life, far before I knew anything of Broadway and expensive costumes.

Miles, a sandy, wavy haired fella with big lips came barging in, ending my train of thought as he gave me a paper cup of cool water and another crystal vase of blossoming azaleas. "You have a lot of admirers!" he chucked, patting me quickly on the back, "There's two men who are dying to see you."

"Miles…I'm really tired…."

"Come on Sammy!" the twenty-year old crew worker exclaimed, "These guys are worth your while, Doll, I promise!"

"What? Are they a bunch of old men prepared to shower me with diamonds?" I mumbled.

"Nope, they're here for strictly business!" he assured, exiting with a wide smile.

I groaned while untying the white, silky ribbon from my high set of curls and sparkles, letting them fall down past my shoulders like a waterfall. The knocking eventually erupted against the chocolaty, wooden door. "Come in!" I called out, standing up with a naïve, welcoming smile.

The two men were extremely poise, entering in with confidence and strict smiles. They wore flawless dark suites with silver cuffs, there black shoes were shiny and fancy. Every strand of their hair was perfectly combed back, being so sharp and straight that it could cut through a metal poll. "Hello," one of them said, "It's an honor to meet you, Miss. Zella," he coolly began, shaking my hand sternly, "I'm Brian Epstein, Musical Entrepreneur, and this is George Martin."

"Oh, the honor is mine. I hope you enjoyed the show," I said, trying to keep my voice professional and lovely, even my legs turned to gooey jelly at their introduction. All I could think about was their strong connection to the magnificent Beatles, whose voices had made me swoon on a charming, muggy night at my friend's favorite club.

"It was incredible!" Mr. Martin claimed, "You're voice is far beyond exceptional."

"Awe shucks, thank you so much," I blushed.

"We've actually been waiting what's felt like a lifetime to officially meet you," Mr. Epstein admitted. "Last summer I was eating dinner at a pub near Oxford with a few old friends when I first saw you perform."

"Oh my, I truly cannot believe anyone could remember that night. My friends and I were so shaky and awkward, the night is a blur of embarrassment to me," I admitted uncomfortably.

"It definitely wasn't. Your band was refreshing, humble, and so enthusiastic. It was so unique to see such an extremely talented American bird leading a group of boys," he assured. "We want you to stay in Liverpool and play professionally with your band."

I gasped, every atom of my body transforming to paper as I resisted falling back in intense surprise. Instead I froze for a moment, oozing with shock. "What?" I whispered, overwhelmed.

"We want to make a contract with you and your band," Mr. Epstein answered emotionlessly.

I began to shiver, my words falling off my tongue in a panicked, messy fashion. "Ah…I don't know…I already have a contract with the musical and I haven't spoken to some of my band mates in months…I mean we weren't even a band, just a bunch of reckless teenagers messing around with instruments…"

"My assistant has already contacted the rest of your group and has arranged for you all to meet tomorrow afternoon. I've talked to your director and he has agreed to shorten your contract, making tonight your last performance, agreeing that you've been working very hard and deserve to reach out to new experiences. I'm sorry for everything being so last minute for you, but it was very hard to contact you beforehand."

"Wow…um…that's amazing…" I stuttered.

"We'll give you some time to think about it," George Martin comforted, "Call us when you get to your hotel with you final answer, we're sorry for any inconveniences."

"Thank you," I shyly smiled, shaking his hand goodbye before he exited.

Mr. Epstein stared at me, before finally speaking in a hard voice. "You know, this is an opportunity of the lifetime. I've seen a lot of talent throughout me life but you're different, you sing naturally and effortlessly, as if talking doesn't exist. You enchant your audience, making individual members feel like they're the greatest person on the entire planet. Your band makes you better, and it can't exist without each specific person.

"I see all the bands that are rising quickly to fame, and they're all young British guys in dark suits who make the girls squeak. But you're a gorgeous, young, American lady, guys will love you, girls will admire and envy you, and every male in the music business will find you irresistible. A life greater than anything you've ever imagined longs for you, you need to decide right now."

Suddenly, without even thinking I said, "Yes." He smiled, leaving me with a packet of information and shipping me off in a glossy taxy to my fluffy, creamy hotel. I lay in the squishy bed in the blank atmosphere, surprised beyond belief of how my life had greatly changed within an instant.

**/The*Kissies/ **

My best friend was Ryan Jacks, my equal in my current age of seventeen from Liverpool, England. He was the son of one of my father's friends who worked on one of the big ships filled with natural goods that came to the U.S. Ryan's mother left to spend the rest of her life living under the sun in Venice when he was only four, due to being pathetically far too stressed with the role of motherhood. His father's work required him to spend huge chunks of time working on American docks, tying up and repairing boats, selling fish and minerals, and managing the deliveries that came to the small, unrecognized town of Sapphire Shores, Florida. Ryan called his dad Pops, making him giggle whenever he greeted his father with a loud, high-pitched "Ello' Pops!" His dad, Stephan, was a tall, husky man whose hair fell off due to the incredible frustration of getting his son eligible to stay in America for big periods of time. My family allowed him to stay with us in our small, cozy guest room. I was an only child, so Ryan was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. We were each other's other half, spending childish summers searching for seashells on the beach, jumping of tall, tightening cliffs into the chilly sea, catching fireflies, and sleeping outside under the stars. As sweet younglings, we would cry whenever Ryan had to return to England for school, leaving my heart temporarily broken over the void of my greatest friend. Ryan had emerald eyes that were wide, like a deer permanently in front of head lights. He kept his jet black hair in a clean, straight mop. He always liked dressing his best, wearing handy-down business suits since he was a tiny kid. His British accent was unbelievably strong, so overpowering that believed that not even his fellow Brits could understand him half the time.

Lukas Bowden is a sassy, twenty-three year old who lived in an old, scratchy apartment with his gray, scruffy cat Elvis on the outskirts of London, England. He had a comical attitude that both angered and allured the people around him. I met him when I was sixteen and backpacking around England with Ryan. His parents owned an adorable bakery that sold stylish, delicious cakes and breads that Ryan was desperate to taste. We took a rickety train to London, carrying a strong curiosity, longing for adventure, and backpacks full of cash, water, and identification stuff. In front of the Bowden Family Bakery was Lukas, playing his guitar passionately, as if he were in his own little, amazing music bubble. He was tall, muscular and had hazel cat eyes and wavy, dark brown hair that tickled his ears. We all instantly hit it off as buddies, since Ryan and I didn't feel offended by his overwhelming level of sarcasm. Together we spent whole nights by a bonfire in his parents backyard, creating a harmonic guitar circle of fabulous melodies and blissful laughter. Ryan played bass guitar, Lukas played lead, and I played rhythm guitar. Those perfect, happy nights formed a sacred, unbreakable bond between us.

One night Ryan, Lukas, and I were at an old, sweaty pub that was filled with cigar smokers and the smell of spilled wine in a tiny, stone college town. That's where we met the handsome, non-identical Ruben twins. "Hey love," Bran smiled at me by the sticky bar, leaning against the cherry wood as he winked at me. "Can I buy you a drink, little bird?" Bran was the flirtiest of the group, always flipping his sweet, chocolate brown curls and winning girls over with his sky blue puppy dog eyes and playing romantic piano solos. His brother, Barney was a loyal, classy guy with the same, heartwarming eyes as Bran. He always wore sweaters and freshly ironed pants. He was constantly brushing his sunny, straight, blond hair back. "Is me annoying brother bothering you?" Barney asked, embarrassed by his brother's constant flirty behavior. Our friendship happened in within an unremembered flash of lightning. We all instantly clicked, like the parts of a graceful puzzle of melodies and refreshing friendship.

I was born in Sapphire Shores, Florida, from my parents Lucy and Jay Zella. My father was a fancy lawyer who educated me on formal cheeses, wines, and art. My mother was a stubborn local nurse. When I was four my father took me to music lessons regularly to learn how to play a dusty, cobwebbed-covered Rhythm Guitar that I fell in love with at first sight. Playing guitar was the only thing that felt natural to me, that kept me happy and gleeful in moments of heartache. In high school I filled my class schedule with honors classes, making it my first priority to have the best academic reputation in the entire school. I was the proud captain of the girls' swim team, water polo team, and field hockey team, so I always stayed tall and fit. In my senior year, the school's Broadway obsessed choir instructor, Miss. Hansel planned out the school's musical, Anything Goes, in which I played Reno, an evangelist club singer. The production was a hot mess, with horrid musicians, sketchy props and lightning, and ripped up seats. But lucky for me a Broadway producer, who was Miss. Hansel's boyfriend at the time, was completely mesmerized by my performance and recruited me to be a star! Training me to play the part professionally during weekends then starting the official U.S. touring the day right after my high school graduation. My father's farewell came with a big hug, a fluffy, bubblegum pink, stuffed bear, and whispering "Shoot for stars!" in my ear. My mother's goodbye was cold, as she wrapped her arms around herself and hissed, "You dumb girl! You're throwing your education away on a wild decision! Never ever come back!" So I left for an adventure of high kicks, singing, and a front-row view of humanity's greatest gems, with my long, wavy hair flapping behind me.

So I sat in a cherry red booth in a pretty white dinner in Liverpool. The tiny building was basically empty, besides for us, bored waitresses putting on lipstick, and cooks dancing to a quiet record player. Once again, it was me: Lead vocals and rhythm guitar; Ryan: Second lead vocals and bass guitar; Lukas: Lead guitar; Bran: Piano player; and Barney: Drums.

"So love, are we really going to do this?" Bran asked, excitedly.

"Yup," after my words were said and everyone nodded in agreement, we officially become The Kissies.


	2. Average Boys

**Woo! You guys are fabulous and incredible! Thank you all SO MUCH for reading! **

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**Average Boys**

I sat at the cozy booth with my fellow Kissies, staying silent as they wrote songs on napkins with red pens and imagining chords on their air instruments. I leaned against the chilly, foggy glass of the window that showcased a yucky, rainy Liverpool. I was in a complete, surprised daze. I couldn't believe that I was once again sitting in a newly cleansed diner, drinking chocolate milkshakes and engulfing overly salted French fries. The smell of orange-scented cleaning chemicals filled our nostrils, making Bran sneeze.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," I said.

"Oh my word! Sammy, oh lassie, I've missed ye American accent!" Ryan chirped, rubbing the top of my wavy hair bun.

I quickly laughed and gave Ryan a playful punch against his plaid, coat covered arm. "But seriously!" I giggled, "We haven't seen each other in months, and now we're finally reunited, continuing our path to an awesome, unbelievable, musical adventure that'll be the highlight of our entire lives!"

Lukas laughed, brushing a comb through his dark brown hair while slowly shaking his head. "No thanks to ye, little bird! We could have already started our careers long ago if you hadn't left for that pansy sparkle show!" he smirked.

Barney rolled his eyes, his sunny hair glimmering in shades of blue against the diner's dim lighting. "Don't mind that baboon, lovely, I heard you're precious musical was magnificent." we smiled at each other for a small, blissful moment before all his attention fell on a loose thread hanging obnoxiously from the sleeve of his itchy, emerald colored sweater.

Bran let out a roaring laugh, his chocolate curls wiggling in front of his addictive eyes. "I truly adore your enthusiasm, daring! But our attractive _'careers'_ aren't set in stone yet," he pouted, stirring a swirly red straw in his empty milkshake glass.

"Why wouldn't they be? We're bloody amazing!" Lukas sang.

"No, no…" I sighed, "Tomorrow we have to play three songs in the studio before we can actually sign a solid contract. They can very easily change their minds about us."

Everyone nodded their heads, looking down at the table as if a gigantic, hideous elephant had walked into the room, shaking everyone up. I stared at my reflection, biting my lower lip. The musical had made me so vain. I remember staring at myself after great shows in twinkling mirrors, in an atmosphere of awe. The stranger covered in a ridiculous sparkling costume, thick layers of makeup, and a nest of ringlets above her head would always glare back at me, nastily confident. I guess that after long, miserable hours of rehearsing the exact same twenty minutes of the exact same tiring show had led to me putting myself on a towering pedestal. I thought the talented performing monkey I was transforming into deserved all the world's graces and praise. But being myself once again I felt simply average and flawed. My Broadway experience, as unique and glamorous and spectacular as it had been, was finally destroyed, and I was extremely gleeful over its ending. A throbbing chunk of me wanted to drill my fingers in my head, highly disgusted by my phase of a blank mindedness and falseness. The shinning spotlight of Broadway was a grand blessing, but it wasn't designed for the cozy likes of me. I was finally free to be my true self, cleaned up by the ray of my friendships to be goofy and airy!

"Sammy!" Ryan yelped in my ear, snapping his fingers in front of my dazed face, "Are ye even listening?"

"Hmm…I'm so sorry, I totally zoned out," I gasped, skyrocketing upwards in my seat.

"We were deciding on the songs we're going to do tomorrow!" he grind, his joyfully crocked teeth sparking through his cherry lips.

"We need to knock their ironed socks right off!" Lukas smirked, punching the air.

"We're going to start with ye singing that fluffy, lil' song, _'Hey Cutie'_," Ryan explained, "Then we'll continue with _'Will You?'_ and finish with the extremely fab _'Alone'_. They were the last songs we played together. We're guaranteed to perform them perfectly!"

"But Sammy, my dearest, you need to resurrect your fun, brilliant soul," Bran smirked.

"What?" I hissed. My dark blue eyes began hesitantly flashing beams of red.

"Sorry love, but it's so hard to imagine such a bizarre lass prancing around in a musical with a long, metal pole up her bum," Bran explained.

"Yeah," Barney hollered, "I remember one night ye got so drunk ye woke up on a sloppy bar with your hair tied up to a drooling lassie!"

"Oh, and ye were always such an angel! I remember you giving our hotel rooms to a family of beggars in Ely, after spending a month of gigs and odd jobs on them," Ryan remembered.

"Oh boy, how could we ever forget that? We slept by a river a whole week, which smashed us with an ugly cold," I smirked.

"Let's not forget how much of a fierce tigress she was!" Lukas said, "When that lousy drunk tried snogging her and she rewarded him with a giant punch in the face!" The table began roaring in laughter. I smiled staring down at my wrist, visualizing its huge, purple bruise that formed when I broke it by punching the fat block too hard.

"Don't worry guys!" I comforted, "The musical was only a lucky phase, I'm still the original me."

**/The*Kissies/**

Right after leaving the diner we went to Ryan's family's twisty brick home to spend the rest of the day practicing in his tight basement. The basement was wet, with drippy walls covered in British flags and his whacky doodles of swirls and squishy waves. The financial managers of the musical insisted on paying for me to stay another night at the hotel, but I had to turn down their generosity. I knew far too well I would be sleeping on the shaggy carpet in Ryan's basement.

Our practice swooshed by, like a shimmering mirage of joy and music. I brought my guitar everywhere with me since starting the musical. Playing and singing was a magical thing that transferred me to a unique atmosphere that only existed in the universe of fantasies and dreams. Whenever my head was spiraling violently in a million different directions; whenever I was clueless on the ways of a twisting reality, playing rescued me from a chaotic crash. In viscous moments of screeching arguments with my mother, breakups with the school's dreamy eyed debate club captain, and long nights of hauntingly silent loneness, music was my only saving grace. As we played, our instruments wooing through the wind, our voices mixing together, and our feet tapping against the floor, I felt an unworldly sensation. Every trouble in the world slipped off my body, every flaw washed away in a fantabulous fashion. Even when the music sounded overwhelmingly disgusting and we began stomping our feet and screaming at each other, we instantly clicked back together, improving within each second of practice. Our session was unquestionably unrealistic, but we continuously played in a positive fashion, despite the quick, painless occasional annoyances.

When the night began to grow, we piled up a mountain of dusty quilts and oversized pillows and fell asleep. The next morning flew by like an agonizing flash of lightning. Suddenly, after a glimpse of brushing teeth and nibbling on fried eggs, we were standing in front of a rocky building that showcased a cluttered bundle of awkwardly sized windows and an enormous, frosty sign hovered by blurry, unreadable letters. The unsymmetrical structures around it were close together, twisting around like a dark, rain-covered jungle of stony vines. It was a cold, under-the-radar collection of studios, filed with leathery waiting rooms and scratchy pool tables, and bright, wooden walls. Our cab had left us, roaming off far into the rainy, Liverpool clouds that controlled the dark sky.

My eyes grew wide and I began twirling my grip on my guitar case. The studio provided a drum set and piano, so it was only me, Ryan, and Lukas holding dark instrument cases. My case was decorated by an American flag sticker that glistened in front of its black simplicity. "I don't know guys…are you sure we're ready for this?" I asked.

"Definitely, it needs to be now or never!" Ryan snorted, holding a clear umbrella above our heads.

"Anything can happen," I warned, "We need to make a pact."

"And what might that be?" Lukas questioned, leading us to circle up on the wide sidewalk.

"If today is a horrific, hot mess and we don't get a contract, we need to stay together," I said. "Because after being away from you guys for so long I've finally realized that you're my family, and I'm completely lost without you. So even if we're…"

"Shh…stop being such a lass, lil' bird!" Lukas interrupted, "We love you, Sammy," he chuckled, forcing us all into a tight group hug, "We'll always be together. But even if we succeed today are not, we're absolutely getting totally smash tonight!" He promised.

When we entered the building, a tiny lady at a metallic desk sat us in a corner filled with a fuzzy brown sofa and a long, glass coffee table holding a small collection of newspapers and a tiny green plant. "Mr. Epstein will meet with you soon," she announced, running her hot pink finger nails through her short, orange-colored hair. She fluttered back to her desk, leaving us crammed together, staring intensely at the artificial plant. A group of four, familiar looking young men entered through the giant, wooden doors, all with lazy smiles on their faces.

One of them coolly cheered out "Hello Dorothy!" to the orange-haired receptionist.

She began blushing, "Hello Paul!" she giggled, looking down at her feet in girly flattery.

The boys began leaning around the room, not noticing us in the distant corner. "Why did Eppy make us come in?" one of them asked in a raspy voice, his light eyes rolling with mild irritation.

"You seriously forgot John?!" the youngest one yelped disappointedly, "Brian wants us to evaluate this new band he's interested in."

"Awe, Eppy's trying to replace us?" John playfully pouted, "And right in front of our very eyes, too! Oh how that swine breaks my heart!"

"I wonder what they'll be like;" the youngest wondered dreamily, "Brian really seems to adore them."

"I bet they're just a bundle of lil' drunken schoolboys with guitars, I doubt they'll be anything worth watching," John stated, creating a sizzling boil to fill up my throat in annoyance.

"Come on Lennon, you're sounding a bit worried. Are ye jealous that these new mates will be more talented than ye?" Another guy grinned, patting John on the back.

"Shut your mouth, drummer boy," he cringed, his Roman nose crinkling.

Suddenly the penny dropped for me, these boys were none other than the Beatles. The band was just newly rising to popularity, their music traveling through England, conquering each city as their influence grew like a wild weed. Their image was making young girls swoon and blush all around the hypnotized country.

Brian Epstein finally entered, holding an expensive brief case and wearing a deep navy-colored suit. His lips were straight, and he focused on the Beatles like a father watching over mischievous younglings. "Boys," he nodded, "I want you all on your best behaviors today. Your input is very important on this new group, I believe you two could be great musical allies. Go into Studio B immediately." The boys began to make their exit. Mr. Epstein suddenly grabbed John by his arm, looking him in the eye, "Lennon, please don't cause ANY problems, and please play nicely!"

"Of course, Brian," he chuckled deviously before following his band to the studio.

Brian made his way to us, a tiny, welcoming smile glowing radiantly on his face. "Welcome!" he greeted, "I'm so glad you decided to make it." We all stood up, shaking his hand and smiling. He began leading us to Studio B, "So you guys are going to play three songs for us then afterwards we'll make a final decision on rather or not we'll be signing a contract with you. Have you guys ever played in a professional studio before?" we all shook our heads; our nerves began to jitter beneath our paling skin. "Okay, well we're going to record your set. There's going to be a giant red light in the room, after it starts glowing you're going to start. State the name of each song before playing, after your last song the light is going to go off. It'll be fun," he informed.

We finally arrived at the thick, iron door of Studio B, as the boys began to enter; I overheard John whispering, "Ye see, Geo? They're nothing but a bunch of simple young lads." The Beatles were sitting in a row of rolling chairs along with a bunch of older men staring at a table hovered by millions of confusing, swarming buttons made from a variety of rubbers and metals. When I finally made my entrance, my flowing, light pink skirt and lose, forest green blouse swooshing in the refreshing air and my golden brown hair swinging above the edge of my stomach, I felt all their eyes on me. Their gaze slid deep into my skin, puncturing me in an awkward fashion. I felt like an odd, shaky parrot, swarming around in an Antarctic abyss. I noticed that their mouths were wide opened as they watched me in a strange, surprised fashion. "Hello everyone, these are the Kissies. This pretty bird right here is their lead singer and rhythm guitarist," Brian announced. I shivered uncomfortably, feeling their focuses continue to harden on me as Brian continued to introduce everyone.

He told us to enter through a slim, light, wooden door that closed us in a glass cage. I felt my tummy drop, as I filled up with the claustrophobic anxiety of being trapped in the fish bowl. We began warming up, and I felt my nausea slip away as I strum my guitar. When the group of older men in turtleneck sweaters asked us if we were ready to begin and we all nodded our heads in response I snapped my head over to Ryan. When he mouthed the words _"You'll be okay," _I instantly felt calm. I threw my vision on a twitching neon light as the red glow flooded the room. Ryan plainly said, "Hey Cutie," and we began to play.


End file.
